“Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?” he cried, exultantly.
“Done what?” she inquired. “I have seen no newspaper to-day.”
“What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night for the Amendment?” he cried.
“I heard nothing,” she replied.
“I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, Beatrice.”
“Stop,” she said. “I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago.”
He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair.
“You have made a fool of me,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together at that seal-hunt, but—well, something came between us.”
“And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!”